


Protea

by DeanOh



Series: Tales of Seratonia [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Death, Destiel - Freeform, Fantasy AU, Fluff, M/M, SPN REverse Bang, Servant!Dean, Short Story, Smut, a little bit of smut ok dont judge me, dean dies a lot here but don't worry not permanent, guard!castiel, i'm just trying out my world ok, world building
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 23:30:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12804744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanOh/pseuds/DeanOh
Summary: After an unsuccessful attempt at protecting the King, Castiel is given a new position - as guard of the Temple of Death. Dean, the servant of the Temple, has his own curious task bestowed upon him by Lady Death herself, and suddenly finds himself with an unwelcome companion. Despite Dean's reluctance, an unconventional romance blooms between them, and Castiel learns to believe Lady Death's task is an unfair burden from which Dean must be rescued. For his love, he vows to find a way for Dean to be free of the Temple and experience a life that has been cruelly denied him.





	1. Coming Apart

**Author's Note:**

> My entry for Spn Reverse Bang for the lovely Aceriee <3 Her art inspires me every single day, and I can’t believe I chose her by accident (even if we did DCBB together, I’m so excited to work with her again, and we’re teaming up already!) Give her as much love as you can! I LOVE YOU ACEEE  
> Again, thank you to darter_blue, who is my amazing beta. I adore you, and without you, I have no idea what I'd do. She's always there for me, and always helping with my grammar. (I'm not a native speaker, so if you find any grammar mistakes, they're my own!)  
> The story is part of the Seratonia series I'm planning (along with Aceriee), which is why this post is part of a collection. The first part, in the same universe, but on an alternative timeline, is Blade Unforgiving, my DCBB for 2017. Thank you for reading!  
> Follow me on tumblr: deanohthewriter

 

As the last of snow leaves the city, the forest behind the Castle on the hill remains eerily cold, the green of Spring is taking a long time to appear beneath the dead tree bark and leafless branches. Castiel has to kick the dead leaves and the murky snow away from the stone path as he walks into the forest with a quick step. The disappointed frown on Castiel’s face becomes swift curiosity in one moment,  fear in the next.

Castiel took pride in his own fearless attitude when it came to being a royal guard. The Queen had chosen him time and time again when  travelling to other countries, trusting Castiel to take care of her safety. And he had taken care of it well - for a while. Castiel is wearing the royal guard armor with it’s wing-like shoulder pads,  the fur lining his neck and the platinum plate laced with intricate drawings, but the royal golden and peach colors are not his to bear anymore. As he breathes in the sultry air of the old forest, Castiel thinks about the dark green and black armor he will wear when he reaches his destination. The alchemists of Lafallka have mastered the art of changing the color of fabric and metal with only a word, or a touch. In Castiel’s case, the second he crosses Lady Death’s temple grounds, he’s going to belong to her completely, hence the official color change.

The order came through in the morning, and Castiel’s life was changed with four simple words:

“Dismissed from royal guardship.”

Ever since the disappearance of King Bear, the Queen had relocated all of the guards who couldn’t protect her brother. She wouldn’t even talk to Castiel about the whole ordeal, but when he saw her empty look, the bags under her eyes, or even her short-bitten nails, he understood it would be better to leave her to grieve her own way. After Nethereal’s Age Guardian’s attack on Bear and his most trusted guards, his sister Tiger had to take his place. Castiel’s friendship had meant nothing to her, afterall, because Castiel is now slowly approaching the only place in Lafallka he has never visited. The only true fear Castiel had ever felt was of the unknown. And what unknown is greater than learning what comes after Death?

Stepping through the trees, leaving the stone trail, Castiel sees the small temple built for Lady Death. The sickly green moss covers most of the area, and there’s no snow covering the swirling white lines on the ground. Castiel has read a few books about Lady Death and her forest temples, but this is his first time seeing the beautiful wonder of death. The pristine look of the temple itself is mesmerising, the white and green windows show various states of death - be it a loss of a human, an animal, or nature. One of the windows shows Lady Death herself, with her short, white hair, and moss green eyes, the glass makes them look alive.

Castiel takes the first step onto the white stones, and the peach of his breeches swiftly change to green, matching the ground and the temple. Upon seeing this, Castiel stops, stares at his leg and breathes in, closing his eyes. He can’t go back, and he can’t beg the Queen to take him back. Serving the Lady Death is his assignment now, and a Lafallkan would never refuse the word of a Royal.

So when he walks, the fur changes into a dark brown, and the guard plate into a complementing green. It’s nothing like the warmth of a Lafallkan Castle, but it’ll do. Castiel likes green anyway.

The temple had been built ages ago, with the help of powerful alchemists and magicians. Now, Lafallkans rarely trust magic, instead using medicine and alchemy to do their jobs, but Castiel still appreciates the sturdy view of the Lafallkan sand glass. The island of Lafallka has frequent storms from the sea, hurricanes and thunder, but this measly sand temple has stood its ground throughout the years of the thriving Lafallkan Kingdom.

To Castiel’s knowledge, Lady Death hasn’t stepped off the mainland of Seratonia in years, and she isn’t about to visit them now. The city of Woonai, right behind Castiel and the temple, has a few Gods, but a lot of temples remain unoccupied, with only their servants inside.

The only person who knows Lady Death’s servant in her Lafallkan temple is Sam Winchester, the incredibly smart Adviser in the Castle. Castiel has had the pleasure of meeting him a few times when Sam was working for King Bear, and Sam shared that he’d go see his brother a few times a month in Lady Death’s temple. Dean Winchester, who was chosen from a very young age, has been working there for twenty-five years already.

“My brother is lonely,” Sam explained when they talked, walking through the Castle, the large windows open to the beautiful view of the mountains. “But he knows his job is important. If he wasn’t there, Lady Death would come here and take more lives away.”

Castiel had nodded, eyes lowered. Even now, his eyes are set low, to the white carved stone, and the thriving moss. Sometimes, a person would enter the temple and never leave, Lady Death would claim their life for herself, or sometimes, she might take something precious - be it sight, hearing, or voice. Castiel fell to his knees, bowed to the ground and prayed for a safe entry.

If it weren’t for Castiel, King Bear would have survived the Age Guardians. If it weren’t for his stupidity and his blind trust in the King, Bear would still be in the Castle. Maybe Queen Tiger was right to doom Castiel to his death. It would be honorable, painless. Lady Death would take his breath and make the Queen’s heart hurt less.

Castiel gets up, walks over to the big doors of the temple. The door has the same white stone carvings, and colored glass in between. The smell of winter is all gone, now, only the sweet smell of oak and mint remains. Castiel has heard death smells like something fresh, but all he has ever witnessed was simply the tangy, disgusting stench of decay.

He knocks on the door, the sound echoes through the area. Castiel’s armor feels tight, the earthy colors make him feel as if he’s not good enough. He’s not used to all this connection to the earth and the whole world, has never faced death, but today, he’s staring right at her.

There’s no answer. After a few minutes of waiting, Castiel pushes the door open, the creaking sound of old metal against metal rings through Castiel’s head. Inside of the temple, it’s quiet, the colored glass creates colorful patches on the white stone, dust flows through the air, setting up the calm tone of the hall. There’s no chairs inside, only a small fireplace in the middle of a circular space, with Lady Death’s favorite carvings of flowers. Protea. The oldest known flower, the immortal beauty, the only thing Death cannot kill.

There’s a body lying on the floor, in front of the simmering embers. Castiel sees the brown cloak, an unmoving figure, and instantly runs towards it, clutching his sword at the side. The man isn’t breathing, the cloak covers half of his face, and only the sandy blonde hair comes to full view. Castiel turns the man around, checking for any life signs. There’s nothing, only silence, and Castiel’s own quick breathing. With shaking fingers, Castiel prays, and thinks about Sam Winchester, how devastated he is going to be when he finds out his brother is dead. What’s going to happen to Castiel, then? If the temple doesn’t have a servant, another will be chosen, but that’s going to take months-

The man suddenly takes a sharp breath, eyes open in a rush, and a brilliant green meets Castiel’s blue. Castiel’s caught by surprise. He’s holding the man in his lap, one hand underneath his head, the other cradling the man’s face. Castiel’s exasperated, but the man says nothing as he breathes, his curious stare is just as nerve-wracking as coming inside of the temple.

“Welcome,” the man breathes out harshly. His voice sounds like it hasn’t been used in ages. “I take it you’re the guard they’ve assigned to Death’s temple.”

Castiel’s even more surprised to hear the servant blaspheme beneath the roof of Lady Death. Only the bravest people alive would not use the title ‘lady’ before a God's name. He’s unsure of what to say,  incapable of opening his mouth to respond, and before he can manage to try, Dean Winchester rises from Castiel’s lap, and brushes off the dust from his brown cloak. Underneath, he’s dressed in a dark green, with the flower of Protea embroidered in silver silk.

“C’mon, I’ll show you where your room is,” Dean says, beckoning Castiel to follow.

Castiel gapes, then finally says, “I thought you were dead.”

An uncomfortable silence sets between them. Dean stares at him, then looks around, licking his lips. “How much has Sam told you about me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What about the whole Death temple ordeal? How much do you know?”

Castiel thinks. “I confess I do not know much about how to pray to a Goddess so unforgiving.”

Dean waves him over, and Castiel follows, now, with his heart beating in his chest. He has seen a few people come back to life, but it was never like this. As if dying to Dean meant nothing. Dean says, while walking. “Look, I knew I’d be getting a guard after King Bear went poof,” he wiggled his fingers, imitating magic, “I don’t really require one, and I didn’t ask for you. So I’m going to ask you to sit in your room and let me do my thing.”

“I’m here to keep you safe-”

“-And I’m here to die for all of you,” Dean deadpans. “You’re going to be free to roam around. We have a small library in the back, a kitchen with everything you would need, a meditation room I have never used once, and I’m pretty sure there’s a stream behind the temple. I’m not allowed to leave, so you’d have to go and check yourself.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m here to do my duty,” Castiel says, observing the quiet halls of the Temple, memorising how to get to his room. Dean seems to know every nook and cranny of the place, walking without even seeing where he’s going. There’s a reckless bravery behind Dean’s expression, and Castiel’s still in awe. Dean is just as beautiful as his brother, even more so, now that Castiel registers the freckles and the pouty lips. Castiel continues, “I’m not here to lay around and do nothing.”

Dean stops, abruptly, and points a finger at Castiel. The confidence is weirdly exciting. “If I need you for something, I’ll tell you. For now, do whatever the fuck you want with your time, and please don’t touch me while I’m dead.”

“What?”

“Are you deaf? Fuck, dude, please tell me you know you’re not supposed to touch the dead with your bare hands. Not only is it disrespectful, it’s also really awkward to wake up in the arms of a guard.”

Castiel drags a hand down his face, and says, “I’m really confused. Can I ask a question?”

“You just did,” Dean says, and moves again, making Castiel fall into a quick pace to keep up.

“You were dead. I checked, and you were truly dead. How did you come back to life? You look as if it didn’t bother you, I’m just trying to understand what the Queen has got me into.”

Dean grins, stopping near a wooden door, in the middle of a small corridor with the same colored windows at the end. He points at the door, and then says, “The library has books. Read them, get educated, and don’t bother a dead man.”

With this, Dean leaves Castiel, who stands there with his mouth open, more confused than he has ever been in his entire life.


	2. Singularity

Dean Winchester usually dies at least three times a day; one at best. The feeling of his consciousness leaving him is so familiar, Dean has gotten used to losing a few hours a day solely because Death decides when and who Dean has to die for. There are a million people in Lafallka alone, and some of them do not deserve to go out, which is why Dean takes their place, for a little while, so that a loved one can say goodbye to the one dying. The longest Dean has spent dead was three full days. He woke up dehydrated, hungry, and one of his fingers felt like it was going to fall off if he moved it the wrong way. 

Dean spends most of his time in his workshop, where he creates alchemical medicine to treat the consequences of Death. His body is still healthy, but dying isn’t exactly an easy practice. It takes a toll on Dean’s body, and the only way to cure dying flesh is to apply a sparkly moss like salve that Dean’s been making since he was ten years old. 

So after Dean’s unfortunate encounter with a guard he hasn’t asked for, he starts limping toward the workshop. His breath catches in his lungs, and when he opens the door, he practically falls in. Dean takes the tub of the salve into his hands, and lifts up the cloak, then drags his brown toga up to see the damage on his leg. A dark circle has started spreading already, so he quickly dumps two fingers into the salve, and applies the sparkly substance directly to the discolouration. 

The swelling and the smell subsides almost instantly, Dean feels like he’s going to be able to walk again for the rest of the day in a few minutes. He takes his time to heal, with closed eyes, breathing in deeply. The tired sigh he releases is followed by the slam of the tub on the sturdy table, covered in different vials and other useful alchemical trinkets. Sam’s been supplying Dean ever since Dean developed an interest in alchemy. Dean’s got everything he needs here, underneath the safety of Death, and the only thing he can think about is the fucking stream behind the temple. In winter, Dean can see the flowing water from one of the rooms, the leafless trees still cover most of the view, but it’s easier to observe nature in its true form. He doesn’t like summer; it makes him feel like he’s suffocating with the wall of green, and he can’t see what’s going on outside. Dean understands how important it is for him to be here, but sometimes, the walls surrounding him aren’t enough to satisfy his curiosity. Out of all people, Dean knows what comes after death, and this is exactly why he appreciates life so much. One day, it’s all going to end, and there’s going to be nothing waiting for him on the other side. Only the dark, cold universe. 

Dean sits down next to the table, and cleans the rest of the mess on top, arranging his notes and ingredients in neat piles. Before his first death of the day, Dean wanted to experiment  with the Holy fire of death, hence his unfortunate meeting with his guard. Ha! As if he needs guarding. Dean makes a mental note to slap Sam on the head when he comes over. Almost 100% sure that it was Sam’s plan to force a friend onto Dean, he grumbles to himself while cleaning. 

Busying himself with simple chores, Dean goes through various rooms of the temple, checking for dust and unclean surfaces he can clean. It’s become a sort of habit, ever since Dean realized that cleaning helps alleviate the strain of dying. Dean knows it’s his own way of coping with his death a few times a day, but he has never voiced his findings to anyone. Even Sam doesn’t know half of the shit that goes through his head, not to mention the only thing Dean keeps from everyone, simply to maintain peace in Lafallka. 

Two days later, Dean is checking the calendar in the main Hall when the guard reappears. He hasn’t seen him in a while, and wasn’t looking for him at all. Honestly, Dean assumed the guard had left already. 

Dean rolls his eyes at the official guard attire. The temple has accepted the guard, and Dean should too, but something bugs him about the blue eyed man. This unnerving feeling follows him as the man approaches him, and stares at the calendar on the ground. 

“Have you ever seen a Protea?”

Dean looks at him, dumbfounded. “We’re standing on one.”

The guard stares beneath his feet, at the intricate lines of the calendar, the beautiful swirls of Protea. “I meant the real flower.”

Dean wants to slam this man with a book, and keep on slamming until the guard learns something so simple. Since Dean doesn’t want to die of frustration, he sighs, and points at the white lines. “This  _ is _ the flower. You’re fucking standing on one.”

“What do you mean-”

Dean points again, lifting up his eyebrows. The confused tilt of the guard’s face is kind of adorable, but Dean shoo’s those thoughts away. “The white stone? Man, the flower’s petals grow like this. I’m pretty sure you’ve seen the petals outside, too. As far as I know, the first Death to cross through Lafallka ordered the people to build her temple around the blooming petals. I’m a little bit concerned they’ve assigned a guard to a Temple he knows nothing about.”

The guard blushes a little, which compliments the armor really nicely. “I confess, I came here with little to no knowledge. It’s really hard to learn about something you’re afraid of.”

Dean breathes, slowly. He doesn’t like the idea of living under the same roof with someone who doesn’t know how he works, but he understands the fear. He has fears, too. They’re more intangible than the fear of death. Dean thinks it’s because of the knowledge he unfortunately has, and can’t share with anyone else. So he stares at the guard and thinks about how lonely it’s been around here. 

He crosses his arms over his chest, and sighs. “I’m Dean.”

“I know.”

“Dude,” Dean levels him with a look. “I’m trying to introduce myself.”

“Oh!” the guard says, standing a little straighter. “My name is Castiel.”

“Cas,” Dean says, making an appreciative gesture. “Cool name.”

The guard smiles, something small and precious, and Dean really fucking hates himself for liking this guy. It’s like the second time he’s seen him, but something about Castiel really bugs him in a good way. Dean’s trusting his instincts, and more so, he trusts his brother’s judgment, so the least he can do is tell him more about Death. 

But before Dean can start, the familiar feeling of his consciousness fading travels through his back, and reaches his head. For a split second, Dean looks into Castiel’s blue eyes, and falls, slowly, as if into a bed of feathers. At least dying feels good, which is Dean’s last conscious thought before he hits the ground and dies. 


	3. Broken Machine

Castiel really doesn’t like disobeying Dean, but he can’t just stand around and see Dean’s lifeless body on the ground. The Protea beneath Dean shimmers, now that Castiel sees it so completely. He likes thinking that something so eternal grows without worry or care in the world, so he decides he’s not going to leave Dean like this. 

As Castiel soon finds out, a dead body is heavier than he thought. Dean’s almost the same height as Castiel, probably even a little taller, but weighs about the same. Castiel gathers him uncomfortably in his arms, and lifts up, with some strain. Castiel doesn’t know where Dean sleeps, so he finds one of the unoccupied rooms of the Temple. It’s a simply decorated one with a giant stained glass window, and a single bed. Castiel lays Dean down, careful and mindful of his limbs. The brown cloak and the toga hitch up, but only enough so that Dean’s calves are exposed to the warmth of the Temple. 

Castiel leaves Dean like this, and walks around the Temple again, looking for a kitchen Dean mentioned before. As he finds a small kitchenette with enough food to last them a few weeks, Castiel makes up a simple salad of the most nutritious vegetables he knows, as well as some tea made from the leaves he recognizes as tea leaves. Castiel knows his way around a kitchen, solely because of his mother and father, who run a very successful bakery back home. So Castiel prepares everything for himself and Dean, then goes back to the small room. Dean’s still out cold, no breath blesses his lungs. Castiel places the plates on top of a small drawer next to the bed, and then goes out into the Temple again, this time to find the library. If he has to wait around for Dean to wake up, at least he can start reading up on Death. Dean looked a little bit insulted to find out he knows nothing about the Temple, so when Castiel finds the small, humble library, he takes a few of the books in the Lafallkan language, and one in Salitian, which he understands due to his father, who is of Salitian descent. 

He sits on the ground, as there is no chair, and opens up the first book in his lap. He eats, reading through the history of Lady Death, and her love for all that is alive. With every second, Castiel gets more and more into the story of Death, and her ways. It takes an hour before Dean gathers a new breath, and for Castiel to blink at the book, then at Dean. 

“You moved me,” Dean says, bracing himself on the bed. 

“You were lying on the Protea,” Castiel explains. “It felt rude.”

“It is, but it’s also my job to die where I stand,” Dean says, and winces. Castiel watches him uncover the toga, and sees the dark patches of skin, sort of like frostbite. “Shit.”

“Are you alright?” Castiel voices his concern. 

“I am,” Dean says, touching the spot. “It’s just. You know, my body won’t ever get used to dying all the fucking time, so some of my skin stays dead. I’ve got some alchemical ointment in my workshop, it mends the wound and makes my skin grow brand new underneath the dead skin.”

“Oh.”

Dean stares at him, then, with a puzzled expression. “You still moved me when I asked you not to.”

“I couldn’t just leave you on the floor,” Castiel says. “As an apology, I made some food.”

Dean looks at the plate on the drawer, and then looks back at Castiel. “Apology accepted. Just one more thing.”

“Anything. I’m at your service.”

Dean grins. “Could you please bring me my ointment? I’m almost sure I won’t be able to walk so far.”

Dean explains where to go, and what to take, so Castiel leaves the books on the ground, and almost runs to Dean’s workshop. He enters the area, his imagination hoping for boiling elixirs, snakes and other animals in the corners of the room, but he finds a really clean desk and shelves arranged by color. He finds the ointment in a small jar, and as he raises it up into the air, sunlight hits the glittering surface. Castiel leaves everything as is, and returns to Dean, who is groaning. 

Dean grabs the jar from Castiel’s hands, and their fingers brush for a split second. Dean isn’t the least bit conscious of his body, because he simply pulls the toga even farther up, then applies a generous amount of the ointment to his legs, which have steadily turned more black in the time it took for Castiel to get the medicine. Castiel observes this with an open mouth, and wide eyes. 

Dean catches Castiel looking, and grins, right as his skin heals. “I’ve had worse,” he says. “Most of the servants before me died their own deaths when they reached sixteen. I’m the oldest surviving one.”

“Your workshop is amazing,” Castiel says, sitting down on the ground again. “How long have you been interested in making medicine?”

Dean moves his leg, and massages the black skin off, revealing slightly pink skin underneath, still tender. “Not sure. My mom was an alchemist, and my dad was a soldier. He kept bringing cool herbs for my Mom, and I guess I just got really into it when I was a kid. Used to spend hours in her workshop.”

“But medicine isn’t a branch of alchemy,” Castiel says, confused. 

“Sort of is,” Dean says. “Same ingredients, different approach.”

“So you’re a servant of Lady Death,” Castiel says, narrowing his eyes. “Doesn’t she care you suffer for her cause?”

“Oh, she does care,” Dean answers, there’s a little venom in his voice. “She cares about how fucking clean her temple is, and sends me like gallons of saltwater so I can clean her fucking Protea up.”

“You die for the people, and she can’t even heal your wounds?”

“That’s the thing about death,” Dean says, covering himself up again. Castiel finds himself weirdly angry. “She takes no pity, and it doesn’t matter to her who dies. She only cares about saying goodbye.”

 

***

 

It’s a work in progress, but as days go past, Castiel and Dean develop a sort-of friendship arrangement. Castiel ignores Dean’s protests whenever Dean dies and Castiel finds him lying in whatever position he is, and the repositions him to a more comfortable area with the healing salve and food next to him. They talk more, now, and Dean explains how the Protea works, and why he calls it the calendar. With every petal, you can easily count the years, months and days, so Castiel once spends an entire day counting the petals even outside the Temple. After Castiel figures out the calendar, he counts how long he’s stayed here and finds out it’s been over a month. Dean grows on Castiel with each conversation they have, and Dean doesn’t seem as hostile as he did first. Castiel still wears his armor every day, stands guard until their first visitor of the month. 

A man comes by, rattled clothes barely hold on his body, but he walks over the petals of Protea, determined to reach the Temple. He’s middle-aged, but his cheeks look sunken in, and his forehead is lined with sweat. It looks like it’s hard for him to walk, even. 

Castiel opens the door for him, bowing down. According to Dean, some people come to the Temple to pray, but some come for a clean, loving death. Dean can’t help them if it’s not their time, can’t grant them an easy way out. People seek what they can’t get all the time, and the only way out is to come and ask Death to take mercy underneath her roof. 

“I’ve seen men and women who are sick, who don’t want to live anymore for different reasons. I’ve seen them come here and pray and get nothing. But some are heard. It’s my duty to grant them a proper burial underneath the Temple,” Dean explained one time after his untimely death. 

“Underneath the Temple? Isn’t it reserved for Servants of Death?”

Dean had grinned, “They are servants. They choose to stand in place of another.”

“You don’t, though,” Castiel whispered, but Dean didn’t answer. 

The man beams when Castiel opens the colored glass doors, letting some sunlight inside. The petals of Protea glimmer with every step the man takes, bracing himself against the wall inside, breathing deeply. His watery eyes look up as he breathes heavily, coughing up blood into his hand. 

“Welcome,” Castiel says, helping the man toward the fire in the middle of the Protea, where he sets up a blanket for the man to comfortably sit. Dean’s already waiting in the shadows, observing the man with pity. 

“Good sir,” the man wheezes. “Thank you for your kindness.”

Dean comes out of his hiding place, and walks over to them, then kneels in front of the dying man. Without fear or disgust, Dean reaches for the man’s shaking hand, envelops it within his own, and jams it into the fire. 

Castiel almost lunges forward to make Dean stop, wants to shout obscenities at him for making fun of a suffering man, but then he notices there’s no sound coming from the both of them. There’s complete silence, both of them have their eyes closed. Leaving them like this, Castiel goes to Dean’s workshop, and finds the healing salve. 

When he goes back, the man is already dead in Dean’s arms, and Dean’s brushing his cooling sweat away with a wet towel, treats the man with so much love and compassion that Castiel stands back and looks at him with newfound respect. 

Dean smiles, albeit apologetic. “Death gave him a chance,” he explains, brushing sweaty hair away from the man’s face. “She saw how good he was, and let him choose his own ending. He smiled at me when his heart stopped beating.”

Dean’s hand is burnt, so Castiel kneels next to him, and takes Dean’s hand into his, brushing the salve on damaged skin. It’s such a simple, wonderful gesture, Dean stays silent throughout the whole time Castiel’s hands are on his. After this, Castiel helps Dean wash the man, they dress him up in golden traditional servant clothes, and Castiel carries the man in his arms like a child, light as a feather. Dean shows him how to climb down the crypts, lets Castiel lay the man down. They pray together, holding hands. The man looks like he’s sleeping, serene. 

They walk back up, still holding hands, the silence feels like it’s theirs. When they reach the Protea fire, Dean lets go of his hand, and takes the raggedy clothes from the ground, tosses them into the fire. 

“Sam is coming over next week,” Dean says, pointing at one of the petals that has an X drawn on one of the sides. 

“Should I leave you alone when he visits?”

“Nah,” Dean shakes his head. “You can stay. He really chose you well.”

Castiel smiles at the fire. “He didn’t,” he says. “Queen Tiger assigned me here after I failed to protect her brother.”

Dean looks at him, then wraps their fingers together again. “Trust me,” he says, standing so close to Castiel it feels like the heat is coming from Dean, not the fire. “I know Sam’s behind this. He will never admit it, but the fool tries taking care of me more than he lets on. Queen Tiger may have assigned you here, but the idea probably wasn’t hers.”

“He’s a good brother,” Castiel says, almost a whisper. His heart is beating really hard. 

Dean lets his gaze linger, and squeezes their fingers, before, as always, breathing in too sharply, and letting Castiel know he’s dying. Castiel hates this part, hates seeing Dean take his last breath. He catches Dean just in time before he hits the floor, and Dean’s body sags in his arms, just like the man lay in Dean’s arms not even an hour before. 

Castiel watches Dean’s freckles, something deep inside of him clicks, and the last of his regret  over leaving the Castle disappears as he carries Dean to his bed and prepares some dinner for them both. 


	4. Restless

 

Before Sam comes, Dean helps Castiel prepare a feast, and then Castiel helps him tend to the eternal fire. They work well together, in a perfect tandem. Dean sort of likes how Castiel looks, always impeccably dressed in the armor. Wild thoughts cross Dean’s mind, things he hasn’t ever thought about another person. He’s always been somewhat alone in the Temple, save for Sam’s occasional visits. Some of the visitors  were interesting, but none of them are as interesting as Castiel. 

Dean’s not an idiot, he’s read books of all sorts. Some of them describe hand touching as very intimate, and Dean really likes Castiel’s hands. His first impression of Castiel is absolutely gone, went out the window after Castiel showered him with food and care. The feeling in Dean’s chest grows, but he doesn’t have a name for it. Mainly, it makes him want to spend every moment with Castiel out of thin air. 

Castiel has really beautiful eyes. Sort of reminds Dean of the stream behind the Temple. 

Dean’s chopping some onions up, all while Castiel prepares the meat with quick fingers. He seasons everything generously, making the food savory, and the smell of heaven fills the kitchen. 

“I wasn’t supposed to become a guard,” Castiel explains while the meat cooks. “My mother wanted me to become one of her bakers. Apparently I am really good at making pies.”

“Make me some,” Dean asks, smiling like an idiot. His gaze always lingers on Castiel, as if he’s the center of Dean’s attention at all possible times. Dean’s not used to being so invested in another person. “I’ve never had any.”

“If you weren’t dying a few times a day, I think you’d be able to make some yourself.”

“I’d burn the fucking Temple down,” Dean says. “I only cook stuff that is easy, and cooks fast.”

Castiel chuckles lightly, and bumps his shoulder with Dean’s. Dean bumps back, and they keep on watching the meat turn into something magical. Dean’s good with medicine, but he’s not good with making food. Castiel, however, knows how to make a masterpiece. 

Sam comes in the evening, carrying an alchemically enchanted bag full of stuff for Dean. Not even knocking, Sam barges in, finding Dean and Castiel already waiting. Dean hugs his brother, grinning from ear to ear. 

Castiel hovers, smiling to himself. It’s dark outside, but the eternal light shines on all of them, making the atmosphere elevated and pleasant. They eat while sitting on a fresh blanket on the ground, with a feast in front of them. Sam compliments Castiel’s skills throughout the whole meal. 

Dean bumps Castiel’s shoulder with his fist, playfully. “Dude,” he says. “Take the armor off. You don’t have to always flaunt your status.”

Castiel hesitates at first, but slowly, confidently, takes the armor plates off, then the fur, and only leaves his breeches. He’s wearing a linen shirt underneath, and Dean can’t seem to take his eyes off the way it hugs Castiel’s chest. Castiel looks comfortable without so much bulk on him, breathes easier. There are obvious lines of muscle, his posture is straighter and more confident this way. 

Sam stares between them, but doesn’t comment at all, instead digging into the food in front of him. Dean jokes around  with Sam, asks about his life in the Castle and the girl Sam’s apparently been in love with for years. Having been used to seeing Sam in a very different way before, Castiel is filled with warmth for the man. When he’s with his brother, he behaves as young as he is. There’s no political movement planning, no advice, just simple family time, and Castiel’s included. 

When Sam goes to sleep, Dean and Castiel stay on the blanket and stare at the fire, the glimmer on the Protea. 

“You care a lot about your brother,” Castiel makes an observation. 

Dean throws a piece of bread into the fire, making it flare a little. “He’s the smartest and most kind person I know.”

Castiel pauses. “What about your parents? Are they around?”

Dean doesn’t meet Castiel’s gaze, but says, “My mom died when I was little, and Sam was just a baby. My dad… Well, he’s still out there, somewhere.”

“Doing what?”

“Hunting Death, apparently,” Dean says with a frown, and forcibly throws some more food into the fire. “He still hasn’t come back, and he doesn’t know I’ve been chosen to be Death’s servant.”

Castiel doesn’t ask further. The tension stays, however, Dean doesn’t talk for a while. Thinking about Dean’s family makes Castiel uncomfortable, as if he’s prying too much. Almost jumping when Dean leans into Castiel and places his head on Castiel’s shoulder, Castiel takes in a sharp breath through his nose. 

Dean stays like this, and says, “If this makes you feel uneasy, tell me.”

Castiel thinks for a moment, feels his heart beat fast, but instead of answering, he rests his own head on Dean’s. Afraid of reading the moment in a wrong way, Castiel closes his eyes, feels Dean’s breathing sync with his own. 

“Have you ever - have you ever been with someone? Anyone?” The caution in his voice makes Dean let out a snort.

“You mean like romantically?”

“Yes,” Castiel breathes out. 

“Nope,” Dean says, shuffling even closer. Castiel really likes the proximity, to his own surprise. “I haven’t stepped out of these walls ever since I first got here. I’ve had someone I liked, but she. She didn’t like me back.”

“Was she a servant?”

“Not really,” Dean says, waving this all away. “It was a long time ago, anyway. What about you?”

Castiel clears his throat, when Dean’s hand touches his. He opens up his palm for Dean to snake his fingers over his. “I have. A few times. I’m afraid I can’t say my relationships have had a lasting impression on me.”

“What’s it like?” Dean asks, raising his head, and meeting Castiel’s wide, eager eyes. They’re close, close enough that their noses are touching. 

“Depends on the person you’re courting,” Castiel says, slowly. Dean’s green eyes are filled with wonder, they sparkle in the light from the fire. “Some like it quick like lightning, and some love knowing the person in and out before falling for them.”

Dean looks down to Castiel’s lips, his eyelashes and freckles catch Castiel’s attention. “I think I’m in between. I’m struggling between wanting to go all out, and waiting.”

“Haven’t you waited enough?” Castiel asks, almost a whisper. 

Dean leans in, but kisses Castiel cheek, ever so lightly. “I’d like to wait a little longer,” Dean says with a barely-there smile. “You feel like a reward.”

The last sentence ends with Dean dying in Castiel’s arms, and Castiel brushes Dean’s hair, kisses his forehead, and lets them both stay like this for a little while. 

 

***

 

In the morning, as Dean’s making rounds around the Temple, Castiel and Sam take a walk in the woods to search for some herbs Dean has asked for. Mist covers most of the trees, and the eerie feeling makes Castiel even more tense with Sam by his side. They’re silent for the most part, until Castiel figures it’s time to talk about something that has been on his mind since yesterday. 

“I don’t know how to approach this topic, but,” Castiel starts, and Sam looks at him curiously. “I cannot ask your father, but I can ask you. I would very much like to court your brother.”

Sam nearly chokes on his laughter, and has to stop walking. “My Gods, Castiel. My brother is a grown man, and I’m four years younger than him.”

Castiel shrugs, smiling, now. “Seems appropriate to ask the most important person in his life.”

“Okay. If you want my consent, you have it. I saw how he looks at you, I’m not sure if you even need to court him.”

“He told me he doesn’t have a lot of experience,” Castiel says, when they start walking again. A blush creeps up his cheeks. “He deserves to be treated with respect.”

“And showered with gifts, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“By all means, go for it. The last time he had someone he liked it didn’t exactly end well for anyone.”

“He said she wasn’t as smitten with her as he was.”

Sam glances at him, and grins. “It’s really hard to court Lady Death when she doesn’t care for men or women unless they’re about to die.”

Castiel’s eyebrows lift up, his chest feels tense. “Lady Death? She hasn’t stepped on Lafallkan lands in  _ years _ .”

“Well, not officially,” Sam explains. “Nobody else knows. If she had announced it, imagine the chaos that would ensue. She only ever comes here to sit down with me and Dean, have some rest, and be herself.”

“You’ve  _ met  _ her?”

“A couple of times. Death’s pretty cool.”

“Your father is hunting her,” Castiel says, then notices one of the herbs Dean mentioned. “I’m having trouble understanding why she would feel relaxed with the children of a man who wants her to die.”

“Who doesn’t want her dead?” Sam says. “Every person is her enemy. I think she’s just happy we’re not trying to murder her when she comes over. She just wants a few days of peace and quiet, she gets it with us and moves on.”

Castiel ponders over this as they trek back to the Temple. When they walk inside, Dean meets them with a grin and cups filled with tea. Castiel sits next to him, watching how Dean interacts with his brother. Sam leaves the next day, with promises to come back next month. Once they close the Temple doors, Dean leaves his hand on it and barely looks at Castiel. The tension between them is pleasantly warm, so Castiel smiles to himself, and walks away to make some food for them both. Dean joins him, sitting on one of the small counters as Castiel works. 

“I’ve never had enough time to get busy in the kitchen once I joined the guard,” Castiel says, feeling the need to fill the silence with idle chatter. “I wish I had brought some of my mother’s cooking notes.”

Dean smiles at him, leaning fully back against the wall, as his feet dangle from the counter. “You should’ve been a chef.”

“I thought about it,” Castiel hums, crisping up some onions. “I’d be happy, I think, making food for a living.”

“You don’t have to be a guard here,” Dean says. “You can drop the armor and just. Hang out. Nobody would ever attack Death’s Temple anyway.”

Castiel laughs, short and affectionate. “You’re just saying this because you like how I look without it.”

“Maybe so,” Dean says, with no shame. Castiel looks at him, expecting a blush, but it isn’t there. Only glittering, mischievous eyes. “What? I’m at my prime. I know what it’s like to lust after someone.”

“You’re very forward,” Castiel says, biting his lip. It doesn’t make him want to run away when Dean levels him with a look, at least. Their courting is starting, and Castiel allows himself to speak freely about what he’s about to do. “Are you sure it’s not because I’m the only person to have entered the Temple in years?”

Dean snorts, his eyes crinkle. “People come here to pray, sometimes. A few more than once. I may not be familiar with what happens under the sheets, but I am familiar with the feeling of wanting someone that way. Am I wrong to tell you how I feel beforehand?”

“No,” Castiel says. “I’d like to court you, properly.”

It’s Dean’s time to choke on his words. “Whoah. A little warning?”

“You didn’t warn me before telling me you’ve been staring at me without my armor. I’m just returning the favor.”

Dean lets out a shaky breath, and looks down at his feet. “We’re doing this backwards. Nothing like courtship in the books.”

“Or in the city,” Castiel adds. “There’s nothing conventional about us, Dean. I’m a disgraced guard, and you’re the servant of Death who dies for others. I’d say we’re allowed to do this our way.”

Dean jumps down the counter, and walks over to Castiel, in order to stare at the pan filled with onions, meat, and potatoes. It smells amazing. “I’m allowing you to court me.”

“Okay.”

“How  _ are _ you going to court me, anyway?”

Castiel bumps his shoulder with Dean’s, just as they have been doing all the time. That’s all the touching they get, apart from the accidental hand brushes. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

“You already ruined the surprise by telling me you’re into me.”

“It’s going to be even more pleasant, because you know I’m deliberately seeking out your attention to get a kiss.”

Dean blushes, now. It’s cute. “You can just ask.”

“Not yet,” Castiel says, closing his eyes, already imagining the moment. It’s definitely worth waiting, especially now that he knows Dean’s antsy to try. “I want to earn it.”


	5. Wait For It

Dean dislikes the feeling of waking up after death. For a while, he doesn’t remember what happened, the fuzzy cloud in his head dissipates one thought after the other, like waves his memory returns with Castiel’s voice and eyes appearing in front of him. Blinking, Dean realizes Castiel isn’t actually in the room, for the first time in ages. Dean had died in his bed, without Castiel knowing. With a frown, Dean huffs out his disappointment, and gets up, mindful of the dark spots and dead skin on his body. He shuffles down to his workshop, holding onto the walls for a better grip, all the way shuffling his feet along the stone floor, feeling how cold it is in the mornings. Spring is taking a long time to appear, to warm its way through the cold beneath the pads of Dean’s feet. Concentrating like this means Dean’s less concerned about the rapid death of his skin, and maybe what lies inside of his body. He knows enough about medicine to cure the symptoms of death, but he has never seen the inside of a body. 

Inside of his workshop, Dean heals his skin with methodical movements, like he knows how to turn his wrist just right to rub the dead skin off faster, and less painfully. With Castiel inside of the Temple, Dean thinks about his life a lot more than he did. A curious side-effect of worrying about dying in front of a man he likes, and then worrying it’s going to be  _ it _ today, he’s never going to wake up from this endless circle of life and death - it’s what makes Dean quietly stop rubbing the salve into his skin, and Dean’s shoulders hunch. He breathes in, and hold his face in between his shaking hand, silently grieving. He’s never going to walk out of this Temple and experience what it’s like to just  _ stand _ there in the middle of a forest, with the stream in front of him, without a single worry of death clouding his mind. 

Warm hands touch him, then. Without a single doubt, Dean knows it’s Castiel, and slowly wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist, clutching to the stupid armor which digs into his cheek. 

“You can talk to me,” Castiel whispers, brushing his free hand through Dean’s short hair. “You often stay silent. It’s hard for me to comfort you without knowing what you’re thinking about.” 

“I’m fine.”

Castiel breathes out. “I see how you’re struggling. You look heartbroken every time I watch you awaken after death.”

Dean sits back, but leaves his hands on Castiel’s waist. Looking up into those wonderful blue eyes, Dean understands his concern is genuine. Nothing like the cold stare of Lady Death all those years ago. He’s being used against his own will, with no calm future, but when Castiel looks at him, Dean feels like the whole world is opening beneath his feet, and he can see the ocean and the stream behind Castiel’s blue, blue eyes. 

So he licks his lips, and says, “I’m tired of dying. The anticipation is exhausting, and taking care of my body afterwards is even more draining. I don’t know how long I’m going to keep this up. I thought about you, and..”

Castiel stays silent, waiting for Dean to continue. 

And Dean does. “You’re the only thing that I know won’t change when I wake up. When I’m awake, you’re there, you’re all-consuming, you’re like Protea, but you’re ever growing inside of me. I just. I started thinking about what would happen if I didn’t wake up one day. When my time truly came, and I wouldn’t see you again.”

Castiel’s eyes soften, his fingers trace Dean’s cheek. “I’d search far and wide for you. I wouldn’t let you go that easy.”

“There’s nothing after death,” Dean manages out. 

“You haven’t been through your own death,” Castiel says, lifting up Dean’s chin, making him look into those eyes again. “You experience the deaths of others, not yours. I’d pull you back here.”

“Don’t promise me something you can’t do,” Dean says, weakly. 

“I can,” Castiel says with a small smile. “I’d go and steal a Fean Flower for you.” 

“The flower of wishes? You’re crazy.”

“And I’d use my wish to bring you back.”

 

***

 

Dean finds out Castiel is really meticulous in the way he courts. The first time he notices something is off is when Castiel doesn’t return from the woods for hours, and then turns up with some game he has hunted, along with wild vegetables and spices. And, flowers. 

As he makes food and Dean waits, Castiel asks him to go through some of the rooms of the Temple, to specific locations he lists off every time Dean brings a different colored flower back to the kitchen. 

“The library, a Blue Rose.”

“The baths? Oh, there has to be a Hyacinth floating in one of them.” 

“Well, the Protea is a flower, but it holds a Marigold on top.” 

Dean makes rounds and rounds looking for the flowers. All of them have notes attached, with small gifts. The first one bears a key which unlocks the second flower’s gift. It goes on and on, as Dean reads through the notes of how Castiel sees him. 

_ I have been walking along the stream, thinking about you today.  _

_ My Gods, I can never sleep without thinking about you first.  _

_ I wish you’d see yourself the way I see you.  _

_ I’d hold your hand in the middle of a crowd, and that would be enough.  _

Dean, now anxious to find the last gift, comes back to Castiel, eager to get his new location. Castiel’s almost finished with the food, and grins, knowing Dean’s flustered from so much praise. “One last flower. The most beautiful.”

“Where?” Dean asks, excited.

“The stream,” Castiel says, smiling widely. 

Dean staggers, unsure of how to proceed. His whole world comes to a stop when Castiel figures out something isn’t right with how Dean holds himself, how his body tenses, jaw clenches tight. 

“I can’t.”

Castiel pauses. “I wouldn’t have let you go there alone,” he says. “If you were to die, I would safely carry you back-”

“That’s not it,” Dean says, his heart breaking, slightly. Castiel recognizes the emotion instantly. “I can’t leave. Under her orders.”

Castiel doesn’t seem to understand, and sets the ladle down. Wipes his hands on a dirty towel. “Why? All the other God servants have free reign, as long as they do their jobs.”

Dean looks at the notes he has scattered on one of the smaller kitchen tables. “Because she knows I would run. I have, once. A long time ago.”

Castiel comes up to Dean, wrapping him in an embrace. Like always, there, to be a solid in the middle of Dean’s dizzy. “You would still be carrying out her task,” Castiel says. “I don’t understand.”

“Death’s obsessed with taking control,” Dean explains. “She can’t control a free man, therefore I must remain imprisoned in this Temple. If I leave, I die for real.”

“It’s absurd. Why would she do this to a loyal servant?” Castiel’s outrage is satisfying, but Dean likes how Castiel’s hands feel around him more. 

“I ran when she rejected me,” Dean says. “I would’ve come back, but I think she was afraid of me leaving when she didn’t allow me to. She doesn’t deal well with surprises.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean. Can I at least bring the last flower back?” 

“Yes,” Dean says, assuring Castiel he is okay. As Castiel goes to retrieve it, Dean runs toward the only windows where he can see the distorted image of the stream. Castiel disappears for a while, and then comes back, his wonderful armor glistening in the sun. 

Dean meets him in the Hall, where the fire simmers, and Castiel holds a small box. 

“Where’s the flower?”

Castiel points at the box, which can only be opened with the combination Dean has found on a note before. With trembling fingers, Dean opens the box. 

Inside, a small, beutiful petal of a new Protea shines back at him. 

Dean’s a little breathless when he looks uo at Castiel, who is beaming.

“Where? What? How the hell did you find a young Protea?”

Castiel walks closer, their sides are touching as he points at the petal. “I found it in the stream. There are at least thirteen of them, but I didn’t want to disturb their growth, so I took only one.”

Dean can’t believe he’s seeing a true, new Protea in his hands. “They’re so  _ rare.  _ And you found thirteen in a fucking stream behind the Temple of Death?” 

Castiel shrugs. “Only means that the Protea of the Temple is satisfied with its care.”

“It chose to produce smaller Protea. Wow.”

“I believe so,” Castiel says. 

Dean feels like he’s frozen in time, holding the fragile box with the most beautiful flower, which isn’t even remotely easy to destroy. Just like that, Castiel has made Dean’s heart stop, then beat again, rapidly. 

Dean turns, then, with his eyebrows furrowed, but it isn’t anger in his eyes. What he feels is something he’s wanted for a long time, ever since Death rejected him. Castiel chose him, just as much Dean had. He opens his mouth, closes it. Castiel steps into Dean’s personal space, fitting in. Even the armor feels like it’s been made to let Dean fit into Castiel’s embrace. 

Dean looks at Castiel, and Castiel looks at Dean. In the light of the hall, they’re showered in the heat from the fire, the Protea sparkles from beneath their feet, and in Dean’s hand. Dean makes the first move, knowing full well Castiel isn’t going to move away. Castiel accepts what he feels, and so Dean experiences the first touch of lips, the first time Castiel’s breath hitches when Dean’s kiss deepens, makes Castiel melt against Dean’s touch. 

When Dean draws away, Castiel still has his eyes closed. Dean wants so much more, but suddenly, his head swims. It isn’t like dying, so Dean immediately makes the connection. Castiel opens his eyes, then, and Dean simply says, “She’s coming to visit. We have to get ready.”

“Lady Death?” The confused little head tilt is so adorable that Dean kisses him again. Castiel responds beautifully, with a smile and his hand on the nape of Dean’s neck. 

“Yes,” Dean breathes out. “Ever been drunk with a Goddess?”


	6. Particles

Castiel has had a few encounters with a God, some of them were very lovely people, but he has never been near Lady Death in his life. The whole idea of meeting her so abruptly scares Castiel, so he stands outside the Temple, careful not to step over the Protea. The warmth outside seeps through his armor, the pleasant breeze makes the waiting tolerable. The forest knows she’s coming, because every sound dies down as she approaches. Castiel stares in awe, because she moves without really moving. He can see her short white hair hasn’t changed in ages, still looking the same as in various murals and the glass of the Temple. She’s shorter than him, dressed in travel clothing, the famous silks of Lafallka moving with her in tandem. Unelievable, this woman has the most terrifying power of all time, and she manages to look harmless while she walks.

Castiel falls to his knees and bows, as low as he can, praying to her out of respect and fear. He hears shuffling, then raises his eyes to see Death staring at him with her wide eyes.

“Castiel Novak,” she says, her voice sounds deeper than her whole demeanor. “Stand up. Not your day to die.”

Castiel’s mind reels at the thought if conversing with Death as if it’s nothing. “Welcome, Lady Death. Your arrival was really unexpected…”

“It was supposed to be,” she says, smiling a little. “Come. Dean’s waiting.”

He follows her in, watching her move. Dean waits for her near the fire, and grins, widely when she comes over and hugs him, as if it’s nothing to hug Death herself. Castiel lingers, until she beckons him over.

“Don’t be afraid,” she says. “I’m here to rest. Therefore, you’re both under obligation to rest with me.”

Dean stares at Castiel, a small smile still playing on his lips. “She means I’m not going to fall down dead every few hours.”

“Really?” Castiel says, and looks at Lady Death. “Would Dean be able to take a walk, then?”

She stays silent, and Dean remains solemn. So Castiel tries again.

“I would accompany him. At least let him go down the stream. We have found Protea younglings in the water.”

“Castiel did,” Dean corrects him. “I just waited for him to come back.”

Death nods to herself, and at the mention of Protea, her face changes from boredom to life. “More of them? Show me!”

Castiel shares a look with Dean, then says, “We can all go together.”

“No,” she says. “Dean stays. Prepare some wine, please.”

Dean doesn’t argue, just scurries to the kitchen, and Castiel is left with this infinite being who doesn’t care at all for the man who serves her so well. Castiel’s angry inside, the rage boils internally as he shows her the way to the small Protea petals in the stream. It’s beautiful here, the most amazing view is presented right behind the Temple, where the stream travels down into a small pond, and beneath, Protea petals glisten, changing color with the sun.

Death doesn’t care for her clothing, she climbs in, the cold water soaking all of her expensive silks. Like a child, she takes all of the Protea out, one by one, treating them like gold between her slim fingers. Castiel breathes, then says, “You really don’t care how he feels?”

She barely looks at him. “He is a friend.”

“That’s not how friends treat friends,” he continues, boldly. Fuck it, if he dies, then at least he knows he died defending Dean. “He hasn’t gone out in years. The last time he did was because-”

“Because he loved me, I know,” she says, then finally looks at him. “What’s to say he won’t run again? If I have to come back here and face the entire nation, choose another servant, can you imagine how much chaos I would start?”

“He has been dreaming about seeing this stream ever since he was a child,” Castiel says, his tone rising. “He won’t run. He’s dedicated, and I know he cares about each and every death you make him go through. At least give him a chance.”

Her cold eyes don’t show any emotion. Is this how Death feels? Like nothing is behind it? Castiel remembers when Dean said there’s nothing in the afterlife, but Castiel likes to believe he’s wrong.

She places the Protea on the grass, and submerges herself in the water, only her face is still above. “He has work to do,” she says. “What if he dies outside? Nobody would get him up, his body would rot and he’d stay dead. I can’t have that. That’s not how my powers work.”

Castiel, without a blink of an eye, figures out a solution. A crazy, stupid solution, but once it’s there, he can’t shake it off. So he helps Death out of the water, and proposes a plan to her.

 

***

 

After drinking some wine, dining, and a casual conversation with Death, Castiel and Dean let themselves stay behind as Death excuses herself, and disappears into the Temple. Dean admits he doesn’t know whether she sleeps, and he has tried finding her a few times, to no avail.

Castiel’s without any of his armor, dressed only in a toga and linen pants, and Dean’s appreciating the view. They’ve been sitting like this for a few months, enjoying the warmth of the fire. Today, though, it’s different, because Dean kisses him without fear, blissfully ignoring how little courting it took to get them here. As they kiss, Dean’s hand travels down Castiel chest, and lies there, feeling Castiel’s heart beat.

_Ba-dump._

_Ba-dump._

_Ba…._

Castiel falls next to Dean, his hot breath leaving him, and Dean’s fingers feel how Castiel’s heart stops beating in his chest.

For a moment, Dean doesn’t understand what’s happened. He shakes Castiel, lightly.

“Cas,” Dean tries.

Then shakes him again. Stronger.

He screams, until Lady Death comes back, her face unreadable.

“What the fuck did you do?” Dean shouts at her, wide eyed. His shaking fingers stay on Castiel, feeling his warm body slowly get colder. Dean doesn’t want to believe it, doesn’t want to look back at Castiel’s unmoving face. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Wait,” is her only response.

“Wait?” Dean spits out the word like venom. “For what? For his body to decay, or for another fucking Guard? You took _everything_ from me. My mom. My father, who can never stop hunting you. And now _Cas_ ? You fucking _asshole-_ ”

Castiel stirts in his arms, and Dean looks down, even more surprised. It takes him three breaths to understand Castiel’s back again, as if nothing has happened. Dean doesn’t continue bashing Death, he only crouches over Castiel, envelops him in an embrace, and rocks back and forth with him. The unimaginable fear leaves him, as quick as lightning, and relief fills all of his senses.

“What did you do, you damn fool?” Dean sobs into Castiel’s shoulder.

Castiel doesn’t answer, just clutches at Dean’s clothes, and seems to be smiling.

Death walks over to them, touches the fire with curious eyes. “The ultimate sacrifice,” she says. “There will be two servants, from now on.”

“What?” Dean is almost out of breath.

“Teach him the ways of Death,” she says, looking straight into Dean’s eyes. “You’re free to roam the forest and the world around you, but do be careful and come back to help Castiel.”

Dean is at a loss for words, but Castiel gets up, breathing heavily and checking all of his limbs. “It is true, then,” he says, almost wondering. “There’s nothing after death?”

Lady Death only smiles. “Everyone experiences death their own way,” she says. “It’s not your death you’re experiencing.”

She disappears, then, as swift as the wind. Dean and Castiel stay near the fire, and Dean’s shaking so much. Castiel hugs him close, kisses the top of his head, and says, “I’m allowed to leave the Temple, though,” he explains. “I won’t be running away. She has made sure of it.”

“You shouldn’t have done this,” Dean says, shivering.

“I’m alright,” Castiel says. “I have you.”

 

***

 

In the morning, Castiel opens up the doors of the Temple, letting sunlight come through the opening, showering a very tense Dean. He’s standing behind Castiel, eyes childishly wide, and he’s breathing harshly, looking out at the trees, the most beautiful shade of green. Gods, he’s wanted this for so long, but even taking a step forward seems like a giant leap.

  
He does it slow. So slow, tiptoeing down the Protea, out on the moss and the grass. The ground feels slightly cold, but Dean doesn’t care. His lungs fill with fresh air, the smell of mint comes in waves. Castiel’s hand wraps around his waist, and they stay there, enjoying a beautiful spring day.

  
Dean is ready to see the stream, and when their fingers intertwine, Dean lets Castiel lead him around the Temple.   
The sounds of the stream reach him first. It’s an ongoing trickle, birds chirp excitedly, and Dean’s heart hammers alongside the water. Castiel squeezes his hand when they go through the trees. The small pond at the end of the stream is shallow, Protea are no lomger there, but Dean feels them, somehow. For the first time, he’s unafraid of dying, unafraid of enjoying the moment. He doesn’t worry about dropping dead. He’s mostly worried because Castiel hasn’t said a thing.

  
Dean takes it all in. Castiel lets him be there for however long he wants, and Dean feels the stream, feels the nature calling out to him. He’s so in love with life, that life calls back to him with sounds and a breeze.

  
As they go back, just in case Castiel falls down dead, Dean kisses Castiel as they cross the Hall of the Temple. They’re alone, and Dean’s the happiest man alive.

  
Castiel doesn’t push the flow. Just like a stream, he lets Dean guide his hands over Dean’s abdomen, then lower, until Dean gasps with Castiel’s fingers on the hard line inside of Dean’s linen pants.

  
Even if Castiel’s afraid of dying in the middle of something as precious, he continues, eyes fixated upon Dean’s face. Dean hasn’t been touched, yet, hasn’t ever had take care of him like Castiel’s doing.

  
Castiel kisses the side of Dean’s neck, gently nipping at Dean’s pulse. Deans fingers wrap around Castiel’s biceps, clutching so hard Castiel knows he’s going to enjoy the bruises later. They’re standing in the middle of the Hall, but Castiel doesn’t care. He slithers his fingers over the linen, snakes them beneath, wraps his hand around Dean’s velvet hardness. Dean’s breath catches in his lungs.

  
“Dean,” Castiel mumbles, mouthing beneath Dean’s jaw. “Dean, Dean, Dean.”

  
“I want to touch you,” Dean manages out. “Show me how, please.”

  
Castiel guides Dean’s hand the way he moves his own. Dean’s inexperience shows, but he’s quick at catching every single little movement of Castiel’s hips, and Castiel’s already moaning Dean’s name under his breath. It’s quick, it’s selfless, they’re so aware of each other that when Dean comes first, Castiel doesn’t get to see it. He’s spiraling down as well, with eyes closed and mouth open in a silent shout.   
Castiel hasn’t died, yet. When he sees how Dean looks at him, he knows Dean’s happy Death gave them a minute of borrowed time. 

Castiel kisses him, again, and again, with promises unaired, but already there.   
  


 


End file.
